


Good Fortune

by CaitlinFairchild



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabble, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitlinFairchild/pseuds/CaitlinFairchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Sherlock doesn’t have those hands and mouth on his body as close to right now as possible, he feels like might very well die tonight after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> By popular request, a little bit of Tumblr ficlet silliness, cleaned up a bit and preserved here for posterity.
> 
> Thanks to Sherlockeleven for making this happen!
> 
> Come follow me on Tumblr:  
>    
> [Caitlinisactuallyawritersname](http://caitlinisactuallyawritersname.tumblr.com/)

Sherlock watches John’s hands as they eat.

Square, blunt fingers with clean, short nails. The hands of a doctor, firm and competent. The hands of a soldier, a killer who took a life without a tremor in order to save him.

He watches those hands manipulate chopsticks with practiced ease, watches them lift lo mein into his laughing mouth. Sherlock's gaze flickers up to John’s eyes, slate blue and sparkling still with adrenaline, then back down to that small, delectable mouth as his tongue darts out, licks away a drop of sauce.

Sherlock had spoken in hasty defensiveness earlier, when he had brushed John’s advances aside. 

He prides himself on making the correct deductions, but deducing his own desires? He had been hugely, spectacularly wrong.

If Sherlock doesn’t have those hands and mouth on his body as close to right now as possible, he feels like might very well die tonight after all.

John notices him staring at his mouth. His smile fades away, replaced by a quizzical confusion. “Sherlock?” he asks. “Do I have something on my…” he gestures at the side of his lip.

Sherlock rises, pulls his wallet from his pocket, throws notes on the table.

"Come along, John."

"Still eating. Thought you’d have deduced that."

"We need to go. Now."

John huffs. “Yes, your highness. Jesus. What’s the rush, then?”

Sherlock says nothing as he sweeps out of the dingy restaurant, trusting John will be following at his heels. He strides halfway up the block, ducks into the dark, slightly sour-smelling alley.

"Sherlock? What the hell? Is this some kind of investigation?"

"Of a sort," Sherlock says, turning to face the smaller man. He smiles, predatory, and crowds John up against the damp brick.

"What the hell—-oh, _God_ ," he breathes as Sherlock slides long fingers into his soft blond hair, tilts his head, licks a stripe up his exposed neck.

"Listen carefully, John," Sherlock whispers into the shorter man’s ear, then kisses the spot just below his earlobe. "You will very seldom hear me say this: I was wrong."

"About what?" John groans, his voice cracking. He slides his strong, callused hands under Sherlock’s coat, pulls slim hips flush with his own.

"I said I was married to my work…but it’s proving to be an…open…relationship, if you will," Sherlock purrs, grinding his erection into the hollow of John’s hip with each whispered word. "Interested in a threesome?"

John grabs his head with both hands, pulls him down into a searing, openmouthed kiss, lips and tongues dueling hot and wet. He tastes of ginger and soy sauce and desire.

John pulls back, panting. He grins up at Sherlock, his eyes dark and desperate with lust.

"Oh, God. Yes."


End file.
